Whispers in the Mist: Black Winter Book Three

by Coates, Darcy

  Clare bit her lip. “Did you… tell them?”

  “No. I’d meant to keep it a secret. But I dropped my guard and let one of the women there hug me. She was older, with beautiful greying hair and a kind face. At least, it was kind up until she felt my bones.”

  Beth lifted her hand to trace along the scar that ran from her nose to her cheek. “She did this. With one of the machetes they kept in every room.” She touched the mark near her forehead. “That was from the man who helped set up my bed.” Then the scratches on her chin. “The woman who brought me dinner. I couldn’t see through all of the blood. All I could do was run and run and run. I’m faster than I used to be. And I don’t get tired. I was able to lose them.”

  Outside the bus, the sound of the crackling fire intensified as Dorran threw more wood onto it. Dead trees creaked as the wind picked up.

  Beth tilted her head back, her expression unusually serene. “I don’t blame them. They were frightened. They didn’t know if I could infect them or if maybe I was leading more hollows into their midst. They just wanted to survive. But I know now—there isn’t room for me in the human world.”

  “Beth, I’m sorry.”

  She blinked quickly, and the smile reappeared. “Let’s take the USB to Evandale together. I think that would make me happy. At least, that way, I would go down doing something good. I wouldn’t be remembered as a monster.”

  Clare found Beth’s hand and squeezed it as tightly as she could. Her throat felt too raw to talk, but she gave a small, resigned nod.

  I’m sorry, Beth. I wish I could do better for you.

  “I’ll pack up,” Beth said. She rolled her shoulders, and Clare had the impression a heavy burden had fallen from her. “You and your friend try to get some sleep. Now that I’m not pretending to be human any longer, I can drive through the night.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The rocking bus helped stir Clare awake faster than she would have wanted. The internal lights were off, but the glow coming through the front window still felt unpleasantly invasive against her eyes. She squinted, mumbling under her breath.

  “Good morning.” Dorran rested in the nearest seat, one arm slung over its back so that he could face her. He’d changed into fresh clothes, and Clare thought he must have washed up as well; his long hair was still damp. It didn’t entirely hide the dark shadows under his eyes.

  “Morning.” Clare sat up, shivering as her feet slipped out from under the blankets. She’d slept on the row of seats at the back of the bus. It was the vehicle’s only designated bed, and even though it was too short to stretch out properly, it was still more comfortable than trying to doze against a window. Clare had originally wanted Dorran to sleep there. He’d refused, saying he’d already slept enough and that Clare needed the rest more. The argument had escalated until Beth, bearer of the shortest temper out of all of them, snapped, “Someone get into the damn bed before I dump you both on the side of the road to be hollow food.”

  Clare had taken it begrudgingly but only after pulling piles of blankets out of the overhead baskets and building a second bed on the bus’s floor. Dorran had already packed it up, she saw; the blankets were all re-folded and stored away. He must have been quiet to avoid disturbing her.

  She had the awful suspicion that he’d done it, not because he felt better but as a way to prove that she didn’t need to worry. He’s not used to being cared for. He’s still afraid of being seen as weak.

  The thoughts faded as Clare looked towards the windshield. They were moving through a gently hilled wooded area. The horizon was hazy, but the texture didn’t match the blanketing fog they had been driving through for days. She leaned forward, frowning. “What’s wrong with the sky?”

  “Hm?” Beth sounded distracted.

  “That doesn’t look like fog to me.” It was too dark. Too ruddy. Clare slowly rose from her seat and moved up the aisle.

  Beth raised her shoulders and let them drop again. “Dust, maybe?”

  They dipped into another valley, and the sky became obscured as branches passed over the bus. Clare stopped a few paces behind Beth, swaying slightly as the bus rocked on the dirt road.

  “Where would dust be coming from?” Dorran asked. He’d followed Clare, and shivers ran along her back as his voice came from just behind her ear.

  Clare said, “It’s been raining for days. The humidity’s still through the roof. There shouldn’t be dust storms and especially not in this part of the country—”

  They crested another hill, and the trees around them parted. A grey-brown haze spread across the sky. Clare saw the sun to their left, an hour or two above the horizon. It was putting out no more light than the moon would have.

  The bus slowed as Beth took her foot off the accelerator. She worked her jaw as she stared at the blur. “Thin clouds, maybe? The sun might be giving them that colour. It hasn’t been up for long.”

  “I guess.” Clare looked up at Dorran and saw doubt in his face as well. She found his hand and pressed it. She’d seen clouds that spread out until they became a thin blanket across the sky. She’d never seen them take on that shade before, though.

  “I’ll keep an eye on it,” Beth said as she pushed the bus back up to speed. “In the meantime, can you two sort yourselves out for breakfast? There’s nowhere to stop, and I doubt there will be for a while to come.”

  “Yeah.” Clare reluctantly turned away from the view. The trees around them weren’t densely smothering the way Winterbourne’s forest had been, but they offered too much cover for Clare to think they didn’t harbour hollows. Beth had the map open on the dashboard. From what Clare could make out, the dirt road wove for miles with no variation. “Do you want me to take over driving for a bit? You must be exhausted.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Beth’s lips quirked up with bitter humour. “But no. I’m not sleepy. My muscles aren’t fatigued or sore. I haven’t left this seat in twelve hours, and yet, I don’t feel anything from it. So I might as well keep driving and let you conserve your energy.”

  “Right.” Clare’s skin crawled, but she could feel Beth watching her through the mirror, so she hid it as much as she could. It would take her a while to become used to the new Beth and to understand her needs and limitations.

  As they ate a bowl of dry cereal and tinned fruit, Clare couldn’t stop picking at her hair. It was greasy and itchy, and flecks of dirt had become trapped in it. Dorran watched, thoughtful, then put his bowl aside. “Would you like to wash your hair?”

  “Yes. Yes please.” Clare took a deep breath. “Can we? I’m about half a day away from shaving it off.”

  Dorran arranged her on the bus floor, sitting on one of the blankets. He reclined on a chair behind her, his legs at her back, a two-litre bottle of water at his side, holding a comb.

  Beth didn’t have any shampoo, and they couldn’t waste enough water to rinse it out even if she did, so Dorran washed her hair a patch at a time with just the water and comb. Clare braced herself for pain as Dorran tried to work through the tangles, but she’d underestimated his patience. He worked meticulously, taking as long as he needed to prise through the snags.

  She tilted her head back to see his face. His brows here pulled low in concentration, his jaw set. The expression wouldn’t have looked out of place if he were defusing a bomb.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. You don’t have to be so gentle.”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a scoff, and kept working at the same cautious pace.

  It took the better part of an hour before Dorran was satisfied. As he ran the comb through her damp hair, checking for any missed patches, he exhaled a deep breath. “Done, I think.”

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how good that feels.” Clare grinned as she shook her hair. She would need detergent to eradicate the excess oil, but at least it no longer felt grimy.

  Dorran’s fingers stayed at the back of her neck, as th
ough he were reluctant to let her go again. Clare smiled up at him. His eyes reflected deep affection. The fingers began to move in small circles across her throat, hypnotic, as he bent forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. Clare arched her back and tangled her fingers into his shirt collar to hold him there. He groaned into her mouth, melting into her.

  “We’ll need to stop to refuel soon,” Beth said.

  Dorran snapped away, a flush of colour rising over his throat. Clare stared towards her sister. Beth’s eyes were on the road, but the rearview mirror was still angled towards the bus’s inside. She sighed and looked up at Dorran. He avoided her eyes, lips pressed together sheepishly, as he made a show of screwing the cap back onto the bottle of water and folding the towel.

  A bus that seats twenty-four, and it’s still not big enough for three of us.

  Clare rolled to her feet, stretching. “It’s not going to be safe to stop in the forest. How low’s the tank?”

  “Low, but the fuel light isn’t on yet.” Beth’s voice betrayed nothing. “If we pass through a town, we should be able to find some clearings or parkland on its outskirts, but the nearest one is at least an hour away, and I don’t think we’ll make it that far.”

  “Mm.” Clare rubbed at the back of her neck. The road was narrow; trees grew less than ten feet to either side, and they provided enough cover that she couldn’t see far between them. She had no idea how dense the hollow population might be, but stopping for any longer than a few seconds would be a risk. It seemed as though they wouldn’t have much of a choice, though.

  “Look for any areas with thinner trees or more light,” Dorran said. “Clare can refuel the bus. Beth and I will stand guard. If we can’t fill the tank, we can at least give it enough to carry us to the town.”

  “That’s not the worst idea, I guess,” Beth said.

  Clare approached the bus’s front. The trees were thick and blocked a lot of the light, but as she caught glimpses of the sky, the uneasy prickles intensified.

  The muddy haze had grown worse. She licked her lips and imagined she could taste it—dry, bitter, and toxic.

  She didn’t like knowing that they were driving towards the haze. But there weren’t many alternatives. They couldn’t turn back; there was nowhere to turn back to. The discolouration spread across the sky, and unless they knew its cause, they couldn’t avoid it or protect against it.

  What could look like a dust cloud but exist in an environment that’s too wet for dust?

  She measured her movements, trying to stay calm, as she plaited her damp hair to keep it from tickling the back of her neck. The bus’s dashboard said it was nine in the morning. They had another hour before Dorran was due for his next dose of antibiotics, but she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the little capsules until he’d taken one. An hour early wouldn’t hurt. She crossed to the basket holding their medical supplies, found the right container, and popped out one of the capsules. That was at least one source of anxiety she wouldn’t have to obsess over.

  Dorran stayed where she’d left him, sitting sideways in one of the seats. She pressed the capsule into his hand, along with a fresh bottle of water, and he murmured subdued thanks before taking it. Clare rested a hand on his cheek as he swallowed the capsule. Dark eyes gazed up at her, a little brighter than they should have been. He still felt cold. Clare, ignoring Beth’s silent but judgemental presence, bent to kiss Dorran’s forehead. He smiled.

  Clare returned the packet of antibiotics to the overhead basket then staggered. The bus’s wheels screeched as it abruptly pulled to a halt. Clare swung, heart pumping, searching for what might have caused their abrupt stop.

  “Quick decision,” Beth called. “There’s a freeway. If we get onto it, we might have some space while we refuel. But we might also become cornered if anything follows us up there.”

  Clare jogged back to the front of the bus, Dorran close behind her. Beth had slowed to a crawl. Clare rested one hand on the dashboard and bent close to the window to survey the scene.

  Ahead, a side path split off from their road. An old, weather-faded sign pointed towards it, advertising a freeway. She could see the road curving away for a few dozen meters before it was swallowed by trees.

  Up ahead, the freeway cut across the sky in a sharp, straight line. It ran crossways to their road and was raised above the ground’s level. If they continued ahead, their road dipped down slightly to carry them through a tunnel below.

  The freeway’s railings were too high for Clare to be able to see how heavy its traffic was. She could make out the white roof of a truck to their left but nothing else. She bit her lip, mind racing.

  The trees around the freeway are dense enough that the hollows should prefer them to the relatively sparse shelter on the freeway. Any creatures that came out of the cars will have migrated away by now. If we can get up there, we should be alone, and we’ll have a good view of anything that tries to follow us up.

  She glanced to her left. Tree branches bowed in the steady breeze, dead leaves rattling. They would have no advance warning of an attack if they tried to refuel on the narrower dirt path. That made up her mind.

  “I vote yes. The freeway might be blocked, but even if there’s no room to drive up there, we should still be able to reverse back down the path we took.”

  “I agree,” Dorran said.

  “Glad we’re on the same page.” Beth hit the accelerator, and they surged forward, following the offshoot to the left. “We’ll still need to be quick. Both of you, get some protection on. Take my mask, Dorran. I don’t need it. But get me a weapon. The rebar is good. Clare, gather the fuel near the bus’s doors. This beast eats a lot, but I want to give it as much as we can before our time runs out.”

  “On it.” Dorran had already brought their leather gloves, jackets, and scarves down from storage. Clare took her set and pulled them into place, then she retrieved cartons of fuel from under the seats and dragged them to the door.

  The bus swayed as the ramp carried them up. The freeway had been designed to compensate for the area’s naturally undulating landscape. As the on-ramp brought them level with the freeway, it created a lane of its own that gradually merged with the four existing channels. The temporary lane was clearer than the others. Cars, most empty, some with their doors hanging open, were jammed across the road, but there weren’t as many as Clare had feared. Beth slowed the bus, directing it closer to the freeway’s centre to buy them some space from the railings then pulled to a halt.

  “Ready?” She retrieved a tie from her pocket and used it to fasten her mane to keep it out of her face. “I want us back in the bus in less than four minutes. I’ll guard the bus’s front. Dorran, you take the back. Yell if you see any hollows.”

  “Understood.” Dorran pulled the beekeeper mask down over his face. He held the hatchet in one hand and the rebar in his other, which he offered to Beth as she approached the bus door.

  Clare pulled on her own mask. The visibility wasn’t good; the eyeholes were too small, and with the fabric fastened over them, it dulled the world into a blurred monochrome. It would be enough, though. Dorran and Beth, on watch, needed to keep their vision clear. Clare just needed to focus on her job.

  She lifted a jug in each hand as Beth pushed open the door. The three of them swept out, moving quickly. Beth speared towards the bus’s front. Dorran lifted two of the fuel jugs and moved ahead of Clare towards the bus’s rear. He placed the jugs beside the fuel hatch.

  “Be safe,” he whispered. “If I yell, get back inside the bus immediately. All right?”

  “You be safe,” Clare countered.

  He chuckled and switched the hatchet into his right hand. His left hand squeezed Clare’s shoulder, just for a second, then he disappeared around the bus’s back.

  Clare bent at the fuel intake and worked on unscrewing the cap with feverish haste. Even with her vision dampened, it was hard to ignore her surroundings. The freeway held tangles of cars, vans, and trucks. The gaps between
them were just wide enough that Clare knew they wouldn’t be hospitable to hollows seeking shelter from the sun, but that didn’t mean the freeway was empty.

  Creatures had become trapped in their cars. Those that hadn’t opened the doors before the madness overtook them had lost the knowledge of how to do so. The dull thud of hands against glass rang around her, not quite masking the endless scrape of fingernails against leather. One of the monsters to her left howled, its voice breaking as the note rose.

  She couldn’t guess how many there were, only that they were a multitude. Perhaps one in every fourth car. Maybe as many as one in three. They never co-habitated inside vehicles. Hollows in the wilderness ignored one another, but in enclosed spaces, the weaker ones fell victim to their companions’ hunger.

  But the hollows weren’t the only distraction. Clare’s throat burned. As the cap came away from the fuel intake, Clare had to turn aside to cough. An acrid taste coated her tongue.

  What is that? It has to be related to the smog, doesn’t it? Some kind of chemical, maybe. She lifted a fuel jug to the intake and tilted the bottle. Her throat itched like a thousand insects were crawling down it and creeping into her lungs. She braced her feet and adjusted the jug’s angle, feeling it lighten as the precious fuel flowed into the tank. Her eyes burned, and blinking didn’t help. The last of the fuel emptied, and she dropped the jug to the ground before unscrewing a second.

  Her mind continued to race, trying to pinpoint the odours in the air. It felt like a bad omen, but she just couldn’t make sense of it. She couldn’t imagine anything manmade that had the power to cover the horizon like the smog did—especially with how few humans were left.

  The thanites could. Fear coiled through her stomach. According to Madeline Morthorne, burning air had been the first symptom of the end of the world. Thanites still floated through the atmosphere. After the stillness event, they would have begun self-replicating, building up their numbers in anticipation of a second activation.